The Dark Lord Potter and the Only Malfoy
by BluePhyre
Summary: No," the elder Malfoy snapped again, snatching the infant back protectively. "We will raise him properly. He is Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, the Chosen one, the next Dark Lord. But for now... For now he is only Scorpius, the second Malfoy."
1. Prologue: The Second Malfoy

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, the series, the fictional character, or the fandom. Sorry to disappoint you... If I did, though, I might have died of happiness. And the frolicked around in the still-unfinished HP theme park for a year or two before I let it open to the public.**

Hey, guys. I'm taking this off my Dartboard via the request of xol225. I figured I might as well put it up for everyone, and pray that it doesn't (I stared at this word for a few minutes before moving on. Firefox is telling me it doesn't exist.) go catatonic like everything else. So... Here it is. The beginning.

**Prologue**

The Second Malfoy

The night - wet, cold, and windy - had fallen brutally upon the small, harmless community that was none other than Godric's Hollow, as if it was a blanket of stars and darkness and all things mysterious. The streets - winding, old, cobbled to a fault - were alight with the joyous, frantic giggles of children and the wavering flashlights of their warier, reserved, slightly anal parents who, upon angering, would gently scold their young, which hobbled around as mummies and zombies; ugly greet, boil-ridden witches and beautiful, tiny fairies with shimmering, baby pink wings; mermaids of shining green sequins and firemen with their hard, crimson hats and superheroes in capes and knights in shining armor. And then, there were the muggle teenagers, who had donned looks of pure contempt and held toilet paper or shaving cream or eggs hidden in their deviously curled fingers, and those who had worn hideous, freakish costumes of blood and gore to scare the littler ones. And then, there were those that still dressed just as their younger siblings were. It was Halloween; a muggle's holiday that was a simple, beautiful, terrifying, bump-in-the-night bobble to them, like the inside of a snow globe or a painting of a far-off place they would never visit.

And then, amongst them all, disguised with ease amongst their foolish, taunting costume-wearing, was a dark inhabitant of that world they could never grasp the true reality of. A dark, wafting cloak had been draped around his thin, skeleton figure, and his hood was pulled low and tight to hide his pallid, lifeless, snake-like face and demonic, blood red eyes that burned with hatred. This was Lord Voldemort, lurking amongst the muggles he loathed with such an invigorating, horrible passion, such a terribly painful severity. To him, magic was might, and all those without its graceful, commanding touch should know their place below his rule, below all that possessed the power. They should fear him, worship him, surrender to the sound of his very name. But here they frolicked carelessly, a mockery to his wonderfully dark, exciting wizarding world. And, no matter how dearly he wished to eliminate those happy, stupid smiles from their faces, to smear their worthless blood across the cobblestones below, to rip their bags of stupid muggle candy from their fat, greedy hands, to ruin the loves of the very type of people he had been saddled with until the sanction of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry - no matter how he loathed the place, it had been his first sanctuary, his first home - found him, the wonder of the magical world, he could not. Voldemort could do nothing to these pathetic muggles, for it would blow his cover, the knife in the side of this operation. He couldn't afford, to let such a counter productive thing happen; he needed to succeed tonight, to ensure his safety and seat as the Dark Lord of the wizarding world. But as long as he resisted the temptation, the pulling urge to murder each and every one of these pathetic muggles, nothing could possibly go wrong. As long as he could point that wand only at the threat to his life, that one hitch in the smooth road to having the world at his feet, he would succeed greatly…

"Nice costume, mister!"

Voldemort turned and a wicked smile grew on his lips, watching as the small boy's grin faltered as he drew closer, seeing the horror under the hood that had been drawn up so well. As he ran off, frightened, the Dark Lord wrinkled his nose, almost wishing he had dressed in the pathetic muggle clothes he so hated, and grasped the handle of his wand tightly underneath his robes, too tempted to ensure that the little boy would never reach his mother. It would be so easy, so simple. With just a flick of his wrist and two tiny, meaningless words, that boy would collapse, never to rise again… But it was unnecessary and foolish, to kill here in the open. There were too many wizards living in Godric's Hollow. Surely, if that telltale green flash ever left his imagination on this busy street, then his presence would be acknowledged, and his prey would flee…

But that would not happen. It could not happen. Lord Voldemort was ever so confidant in his abilities; he could never allow such a thing to happen right under his nose. He was so close; it was too easy. He was now on a darker, quieter road, and his destination, its Fidelus Charm broken, looked ahead.

The curtains weren't drawn, but parted to reveal the small, revoltingly happy family of three. The father, black, messy-haired, and bespectacled, looked on with a sappy, disgustingly gentle expression at his son, who wielded the same messy, dark locks, and had his arm looped sloppily around his redheaded wife, who just smiled absently, though just as warmly, at the two boys that meant the world to her.

"Harry," the mother, Lily, whispered, her voice wavering with tears unshed. She knew what was to come. "My baby. The most beautiful thing in the world." The father, James, only nodded in agreement, glancing to his beautiful redhead love as she listened to each coo, each tiny giggle, that slipped from the baby boy's lips like it could be his last. "I love you," Lily whispered to James, turning to place a salty, sad, needy kiss on her husband. "I love you both so much."

Voldemort did not hear the exchange at all, nor did he see the tears, but he smirked; how foolish this family was. There they stood, not even aware of his powerful, almighty presence. It would be too easy to kill them. Far too easy. But the parents, they didn't have to die. If they were reasonable, if they were intelligent at all, if they let him to the baby with no resistance, all would be fine for them. It was only little Harry that Voldemort needed dead, after all.

As he pushed it open, the gate creaked, but neither James nor Lily heard it. The redhead had walked out of the room, and James yawned, stretching as he threw his wand to the couch, disregarding it easily. A white hand, wand clutched in it, pointed at the door, and, with a silent charm, it flew open, and a large bang filled the quiet house. Silence followed, only broken by the innocent coos of the death-marked child.

In an instant, Voldemort had stepped over the threshold, and James sprinted into the hall, his eyes wide with panic, his heart racing so loudly that Voldemort could hear it, as it told him, demanded him, to protect the small new family that had been such a joy to have.

"Lily!" he cried, his eyes darting to the sitting room, where Lily stood once more, her arms encasing Harry as she, too, found her heart racing. "Take Harry and go! It's him!" Voldemort smirked; James hadn't even picked up his wand. He was defenseless. It was too easy… "Go, run! I'll hold him off for now, just go!"

Hold him off? Without a wand!? Voldemort chuckled darkly to himself, drawing his hood back to better see the look on James' face as he cast his curse. The brunet man's face twisted in disgust and horror, but not fear, and the Dark Lord's bright red eyes narrowed. How dare he… "Avada Kedavra!"

A green flash filled the cramped hallway, illuminating the darkness to show a pram in the corner, the stairs that Lily had raced up just moments before, and James Potter as he fell to the ground. Limp. Dead. And yet, as the light left his eyes, his face portrayed no fear, no pain. Only disgust. Disgust and anger for the wizard who threatened everything he held dear.

Lily's screaming was quite evident from the second floor as she looked down on the scene, her bright green eyes that Lily Evans-Potter shared with her tiny son gulping in the sight of her husband, motionless on the hallway floor. A single sob coursed through her tense, tiny frame, and, for a moment, Lily stared into the cold eyes of Lord Voldemort. And then, clutching Harry to her bosom, she ran.

Voldemort listened with slight amusement as Lily Potter tried to barricade herself inside the largest bedroom, piling things hastily in the way of the door. She didn't have her wand, either, and how thoughtless it was of her. How could she discard her weapon for even just a moment? How could she blindly trust her friends to protect her? With a flick of his wrist, the barricade was gone, the door open, and Lily in front of the crib which held the baby Potter, her arms outstretched as if she could protect her son just so easily.

"No!" she shrieked, her voice cracking with tears and fear and love for the small, adorable, little baby that cooed naively in his crib, suspecting the man under the hood was his father, and they were all playing just a silly little game. "Not Harry! Not Harry!" Lily screamed, only earning a chuckle from the Dark Lord. "No, please, not Harry!"

"Stand aside, you silly, pathetic mudblood girl," Voldemort hissed, ignoring her pleas for mercy. "Stand aside. Now."

Lily did not move one bit. Instead, she braced herself tighter to the crib, shielding little Harry from view as Voldemort drew closer. "Not Harry!" she repeated, her voice rising to a height of hysteria. "Please, no! Take me! Kill me instead!"

"This is my last warning," the Dark Lord snapped, impatient with the woman that bawled pathetically before him. "Stand aside! Stand aside, girl, or join your pathetic, blood-traitorous husband in death, for I will not hesitate to send you all to oblivion."

"Not Harry!" Lily Potter cried in response, the words dead set in her mind, as fear and pain and love clogged up all her reasoning and extensive vocabulary. "Please, have mercy. Have mercy! Not Harry! Not Harry! Please, oh, please, I'll do anything…"

Voldemort could have forced her away from the crib. He could have spared her life. He could have let the mudblood live. But it was better to finish them all, more prudent… It was just better to rid the world of these speed bumps in his master plan…

The green light flashed all across the room, and, as Lily Potter crumpled lifelessly to the floor, just as her husband had, the child did not cry. He stood, clutching the bars of his crib, looking into the intruder's face with eyes that were alight with a bright kind of interest.

Voldemort pointed the want very carefully into the boy's face; he wanted to see it as it happened, the destruction of this one, odd, inexplicable danger. And then, Harry began to cry; he could see the dark of the wizard's face, see that this was not a game, that nothing was alright, that it would never be alright.

The Dark Lord grimaced; he could never stand the incessant crying at the orphanage. He couldn't stomach it as the younger children wailed and moaned and cried and bawled, the tremor of their infantile voices to painful, so irritating to hear…

"Avada Kedavra!"

And then, it didn't seem to happen correctly. Voldemort was gone, confused, barely able to make out the crying of the little Harry Potter as he was trapped under debris and screaming woefully. He couldn't feel the world around him, only the searing pain that had started the moment he said those horrible words… And it all seemed too dark, too black…

And to Harry, the world was dark as well. The roof had collapsed with a great tremor; he could not move in his crib, and the walls seemed to be closing in, trapping him… trapping him here, only to wait to die… Waiting for him to collapse, just like his parents had…

And then, the dark seemed to lift, and the night sky shone above the baby. Stars twinkled and winked, and the child cooed gently, his panic subsiding. Voices, dark and muttering, almost silent, reached his ears, and a silvery mask appeared before his eyes, blocking the brilliant constellations that had lulled him into submissiveness. Then, boney hands clasped around his middle, and he was being lifted, bounced into quietness, drifting to sleep slowly…

"What shall we do with him, Malfoy?" a thick voice asked, and the man holding the baby against his chest protectively turned to stare at the shorter, stouter double who also wore a silver mask and black robes. "What is the Potter baby's fate?"

"We kill him!" a shrill, cruel voice cried, and a woman, her hair dark and wild, her eyes heavily lidded and sparkling with an unhealthy dose of insanity, her face gaunt and palled, appeared on a pile of rubble a few feet away and hopped down, sauntering heavily over to the duo with her hauntingly beautiful face stretched with an evil smile. "We kill little Harry Potter, and the Dark Lord will award us for our loyalty! Our concern! And when he comes back, he will favor us more than any other!"

"No, Bella!" Malfoy snapped, pressing the baby closer as his green eyes, curious and prying, drifted over all three mysterious figures silently. "I will raise the boy, and he will be learned in the Dark Arts, like any dark wizard is. He has defeated our Lord, and perhaps it is his fate to restore the Dark Lord's wishes, to rule the wizarding world under His beliefs, to finish the Dark Lord's conquest. And if He should rise again, we simply present the boy to him, and He will kill the Potter child Himself. It is what He wanted, and therefore we will win no matter which situation presents itself."

"Then he will be our little Dark Lord?" Bella asked, holding out her hands to accept the child. When he was placed in her waiting arms, she held him to the sky, staring straight into his curious emerald eyes. "He doesn't look like much, the little bugger. No red eyes, no pale skin… Kinda scruffy, even. But if he has overcome the Dark Lord, so be it. Call me Auntie Bella, little guy, and I'll teach you the Cruciatus Curse as soon as you can speak, okay?"

"No," Malfoy snapped again, snatching the boy back and holding him against his chest protectively. "We will raise him properly. He is Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, the Chosen One, the next Dark Lord. But for now… For now he is only Scorpius, the Second Malfoy."

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Not very long, I understand, but definitely a start, right? I basically took this out of the seventh book and rewrote it, as I'll have to do with a good bit, since this will be.. a parallel to the series. And yes, if I'm ambitious enough, it'll be seven parts. That's why it's a series. So... Help me with my hopes and dreams, and review!!! I won't put anything else up until I do get reviews, so if you want to read more...

Love ya! See you next time.

- Phyre


	2. Chapter One: A Moment of Freedom

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter series as an idea. As a book set, however, I do.**

Hey, thanks for the reviews! Since I got them so soon, I decided to put this up in the same day. I have this and a bit the first few chapters backed up already, ready for publishing. I see scenes and connect them, which is pretty much how my plots spin out. Then I fill out the plot holes and wait for it to come together. Ehe. Anyway, here's the first chapter, a bit longer. I must admit, it's not as long as I wanted it to be, but nonetheless, here it is.

**Chapter One**

A Moment of Freedom

Nearly ten years had passed since Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, had been stolen out of his empty, collapsing house by the mysterious men that had appeared in the night. The wizarding world had long forgotten his existence; or, at least, they had agreed that Harry Potter had perished along with Lord Voldemort. There were few that believed otherwise, their numbers mostly found in the halls of Hogwarts, the greatest school of all time for witchcraft and wizardry. But no one, not a single one of them, knew that Harry Potter found himself in the care of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy. None knew that he was living comfortably - if not monotonously - in the Malfoy Manor. And not a one dared to even consider that his name, at his point, as Scorpius Nigellus Malfoy.

Scorpius, unlike the boy he had been raised to think his fraternal twin brother, Draco Phineas Malfoy, hadn't grown to like the darkness that tended to haunt the Malfoy estate. Even on the brightest of days - and ask any Englander, those were few - the house was incredibly dark, its greatest feat of light being the great, monstrously high windows in Scorpius' bedroom, which, even hexed to forever be covered with thick, draping emerald green curtains that the brunet hated, let more light into his room that anywhere in the house. Candlelight was supposed to be romantic and beautiful, but without the sun, it had grown old and dreary to the boy. The incessant flickering on the stormy nights - ask the same Englander to count on fingers and toes just how many storms he had witnessed in the past month, and he might ask if he could call a few of his friends for assistance - as he was trying to read was enough to give poor Scorpius a headache.

But the Manor was ever so beautiful, in a dark, mysterious, rather gothic way. Most of it was adorned with marble or great slabs of emerald, which were even inlaid in the paneling of the wall sometimes. The Malfoys had been in the House of Slytherin - one of Hogwarts' four houses, the dormitories and class they were put into for all their seven years at Hogwarts - until they could no longer be traced back, and, as such, most of the house was proudly done in its colors: silver, green, and a nice accompaniment of black. The only exception was the drawing room, which, oddly enough, had walls of purple. And, of course, the Slytherin serpent could be found throughout the house. In sculptures and paintings, carved into the handles and spouts of objects, circling around the legs of tables and chairs, anywhere one could imagine, and sometimes places where one couldn't. The only thing that seemed to be a constant besides the Slytherin pride happened to be the white peacocks that Lucius insisted having wandering around the courtyard and the front lawn. They were his favorite.

The peacocks of albino coloring were just the opposite of what Scorpius found himself surrounded by. Dark, black, forbidden… And yet all so righteous, in the Malfoy house. He was being fed such great levels of magic - mostly by his father and Aunt Bellatrix - even before he received a school letter from Hogwarts. His lessons had started when he had first displayed his magical ability. It was true, Scorpius' powers had bloomed quite early, much earlier than Draco's, which annoyed the boy to no end, and because of that they were powerful, promising… But, in his opinion, it didn't mean that Scorpius, at the age of ten, should have been learning things such as the Killing Curse and the contents of a book he had taken such a great disliking to: Moste Potente Potions. Draco wasn't learning any of that yet, even if he was the older twin, even if he protested so vehemently, and Scorpius didn't understand why he was special at all. Draco didn't, either. He just wanted to be special.

"Scorpius." the boy jerked his head up in response to his name, which had been barked out in a strict, unforgiving manor, and quickly settled himself into a neater position in the armchair he had been sitting in rather haphazardly. He snapped to attention, crossing his legs at the ankles, rather than having his legs helter-skelter, hung over one of the arms, and his back, like he was taught to be, was straight and parallel to the high back of the chair. It was facing away from the door, and it was in one of the smaller, lesser-used studies that he found this hidey hole, so he hadn't expected to be found so easily…

Instead of the stern man, though, that the barking voice had suggested, as Scorpius peered around the side of the armchair, he noticed it was a much smaller doppelganger of Father that stood in the door, smiling slightly. "Oh," the brunet sighed thankfully, smiling widely to his brother. "I didn't see you there, Draco. I was expecting Father. You do such a great impression… It's about time for my lessons, after all. He'll storm in here fuming any second, I bet."

"Ah, whatever," Draco said with a roll of his eyes, disclaiming the thought as he strolled to his brother's side. Scorpius scooted over in the armchair - for it was sized for a giant, most literally - to let Draco sit as well. Upon the unspoken offer, he sat down with a great plop, no longer under the watch of his superiors, and no longer half as polite as a pureblood should be, and rested his back against the - once again, green - satin of the chair. Then, with a small, casual smirk, he slung his arm around Scorpius' shoulders, resting his head on the nearer one. Scorpius smiled and did the same, resting his head on Draco's.

If one had looked in on the scene - and took the time to walk to a position where they could see the other side of the armchair, though no one did, for the Malfoy Manor was a busy place, and no one lazed around for such meaningless sights - they wouldn't have seen twin brothers at all. Truly, the two Malfoy boys couldn't look any more different unless one of them was hexed to turn an unsightly shade of purple.

Draco was extremely pale, like the waxing moon, and his eyes were, no matter his mood, a cold, icy, silvery gray that, if stared into for too long, would send one shivering as if they were thrown in the English channel in the dead of winter in only their socks. His hair was a platinum blonde, and it was slicked back tight against his head, shining even in the minimal, typical Malfoy Manor light. His face was rather sharp and pointed, like a rather handsome, debonair rodent, if there ever was one. Well-built and on the short side, Draco was perfectly proportioned - if anything, a little long-legged, but not at all awkward or stringy - and very much the spitting image of his father.

Scorpius, on the other hand, was given dark, black hair that could never be tamed and often looked like a large, sooty puffskein had settled atop his head. His eyes, hidden behind big, round, repeatedly broken classes, were a bright, lively green, and, unlike Draco's, no one could help smiling if they held a gaze with Scorpius Malfoy for too long. He was also tanner, and his body was an awfully skinny, stick-like thing with awkward, almost lanky links. And if one was to calm Scorpius' hair for a moment, on the slight right side of his forehead, there was a long, deep, red lightning bolt-shaped scar that he had never been given a direct reason for. One could have said he looked more like Narcissa, despite her unwavering blue eyes and deathly, papery white complexion. The only thing they shared, really, was their black hair.

But they were not related by blood, not at all (unless you traced the Potters back to the Peverells, where most of the pureblood families seemed to connect, but that was truly a stretch in all senses of the word), though Scorpius did not know this in the slightest. It was a well-kept secret that Scorpius Nigellus Malfoy was Harry James Potter, and the only ones who knew seemed to be Lucius, Narcissa, and Bellatrix. The fourth bloke who had arrived on the scene of the Potters' and Voldemort's death had been dead for some time, you see, after the dark wizards had been rounded up and stuffed away in Azkaban, the wizarding jail, to rot away slowly, till death finally claimed them.

"Father is on another business trip," Draco sighed to his brother, and Scorpius nodded, putting the book he had been reading - _Blood Brothers: My Life Amongst the Vampires_, by Eldred Worple, it was, causing the blonde to roll his eyes slightly - "and Aunt Bella is dealing with a few… things… Mother says, so _you_ don't have lessons!"

A great grin crossed Scorpius' face, and its echo grew upon Draco's lips as they stared at each other for a moment of silence, both their minds straying to one thing, and one thing only. "Quidditch."

Without another word, the two boys rocketed up out of the great armchair and, as fast as their legs could carry them, sprinted to the broom shed in the East Courtyard, playfully, repeatedly pushing each other out of the way, trying to get to their destination first.

Scorpius was in the lead as they rounded the last corner and burst outside - one of the passing house elves gave a cry of fright - into the fresh air and the rain that poured down like buckets. And he was still ahead as he wrenched open the broom shed door and practically flew inside, diving for the better of the two broomsticks. Draco arrived a moment later, panting and rather red in the face as Scorpius grasped tightly to the great Nimbus 2000 that Lucius had bought them to share. Draco, on the other hand, was forced to grab the Nimbus 1700, the model that came a generation before Scorpius'.

"Fine," the blonde sighed as the two exited the broom shed, walking slower as to catch their breath to the great expansion of grassy field before them, "but I get the 2000 next time, 'cause you _always_ get it."

"Maybe that's because I don't run like a frightened little girl?" Scorpius joked, and, before Draco could swipe at him, Scorpius mounted his broom and, with a quick jolt of speed that could only be expected from the newest model of racing broom, rocketed into the sky, out of reach of the mildly insulted blonde.

"For your know," Draco shouted, not bothering to mount his broom, instead going back inside the shed to bring out a small, golden ball, "you _do_ run like a frightened little girl! Besides, Malfoys don't run!"

"That's right," Harry yelled back down, smirking, "_you_ prance." And, with that, Draco hopped on the Nimbus 1700 and climbed up to his brother's altitude. "Decide to join me, little slime ball?"

"Nuh uh," Draco tutted, frowning in mock disappointment. "Malfoys don't make fun of other Malfoys' hair. I think father made that rule up, though to excuse the fact that his hair is longer than Mother's."

The two boys shared a laugh, and then, holding the little ball up to the air, Draco called for silence. Scorpius' mouth promptly closed and, with a dramatic flair of his hand, the blonde released the golden ball. Instead of dropping, it hovered in the air, sprouting wings before it sped away into the distance.

"And we go in," Scorpius said as soon as the golden ball, the snitch, flew out of sight, "three… Two… One…"

Before Scorpius could say, "Go," both he and Draco had taken to the skies, dashing after the glint of gold that had caught their eye as Scorpius counted down. Neck in neck, the brothers raced, their sides pressed together as they, still trying to out-fly the other, refused to get any farther away from the snitch than they already were.

And, as soon as it had appeared, the gold glint was gone, and, as Scorpius looked up, he and Draco were only feet away from a giant, thick three. With a scream, the brunet shoved Draco left, as he spun right in a deadly twist that nearly threw him off his broom.

"Training for the ballet, Score?" Draco shouted from where he hovered on the other side of the tree, a smug look painting over his usual demeanor. Scorpius rolled his eyes and, not letting up from the breakneck speed he had been going at before, swooped down in a great curve and began again to look for the golden snitch.

Draco's eyes widened, believing his twin had seen the snitch, and began to trail after him without a hope of catching up. "Wait!" he cried, hoping Scorpius would stop for him. "Oh, come on, level the playing fields a bit, will you? _This_ broom doesn't go half as fast as yours!"

But Scorpius didn't let up, instead circling the courtyard before letting a rather pissed Draco catch up with him. A smirk grew on Scorpius' face, and his eyes shined with the bliss that he always drew away from flying. "Someone looks tired," he muttered, and, just as Draco began to make his snarky reply, a glint of gold caught Scorpius' eye. There, hovering just beyond the blonde, looking the smuggest an inanimate object possibly could, was the golden snitch.

For a moment, the brunet glanced back and forth between his brother and the snitch. Apparently, Draco didn't notice it, because he seemed absolutely content with playfully insulting the shiznits out of Scorpius. So, with a smirk and a dive that was all too close to Draco's head for his own liking, the brunet took off after the snitch in earnest. Gawking after him, Draco turned his broom around and followed, slowly losing distance on both his brother and the snitch.

Scorpius was headed straight toward the ground as he followed the snitch, the nose of his broom ready to pelt into the dirt as it came closer and closer. The snitch did not deter is path, so neither did Scorpius. If he had the guts to call himself a seeker, then he couldn't give up. So, with the ground only feet away, the brunet still sped towards the ground. Reaching his hand out so it grazed the tips of the luscious green grass that covered the ground, he frantically tried to clasp his fingers around the small, winged golden ball. As soon as cool metal graced his unprotected hand, a Scorpius grunted; although he had pulled his broom to be more parallel to the ground, they had still collided, and the brunet found himself toppling over the ground, still clutching onto the snitch.

Draco didn't see the gold disappear under Scorpius' fingers, though, and with a newfound urgency, he wheeled his broom to the ground, dismounting gracefully to kneel beside his brother. "Are you alright!?" he asked, and the brunet nodded.

"Nothing broken, Dray," Scorpius replied while blood slowly oozed from a skid mark on his forehead, a great smile playing across his face. "Look!" He held out his hand, and the wings of the snitch began to beat again, the golden shine of its metal coating sparkling through the brunet's fingers. "I win."

"You _always_ win," Draco sighed, pouting as he helped Scorpius up. "Well, at least you're not hurt." Both brothers paused to stare at the blood that was slowly making its way down between Scorpius' eyes. "We'd have to find Mother or one of the house elves to patch you up, which wouldn't be fun to explain."

Scorpius' nose wrinkled in confusion. "But you _said_ that Father is gone and Auntie Bella is dealing with things _and_ Mother said it was fine to not have lessons." A small, guilty smile etched into Draco's lips, and the brunet sighed. He already knew what had happened.

"I lied," the blonde laughed sheepishly, and Scorpius rolled his eyes as the blonde poked his wound, licking the blood off his finger afterward. Even if Draco was older than him - by a whole two minutes, which the blonde never forgot to bring up in most of their arguments - he acted a lot younger sometimes.

And then, just as quickly as the smile had bloomed on Draco's face, it disappeared, instead being replaced by a look of fear. Before Scorpius could ask what was wrong and why Draco looked like he had been put in a full-body bind hex, a stern, harsh voice interrupted their good-natured argument.

"Scorpius Nigellus Malfoy, pray tell, _what_ are you doing out here?" The brunet turned around rather slowly to find Lucius Malfoy standing directly behind him with a sneer on his face. "You had lessons today, if I am not sorely mistaken. I ought not to be, for you have lessons _every_ day."

Lucius was tall, and he towered far over both Scorpius and Draco. His hair was the same silvery blonde as Draco's, but long and silky as if flowed down his back, the great contrast to his usual green satin robes. His cheekbones were high and sallow, and his eyes, cold and gray, like Draco's were narrowed, as they quite often were. He was _mad_.

"Yes, Father," Scorpius replied emotionlessly, his eyes cast down to his shoes. "I was foolish to skip the lessons that will better prepare me for life as a pureblood, a representative of the great Malfoy family to the wizarding world, and I will gratefully accept any punishment you find fitting to bestow upon one as disgraceful as me."

Draco stuttered wordlessly, trying to find the courage to stick up for the brother he had gotten in trouble. But then, as Scorpius and Lucius both glances to him, the young blonde realized that his brother was _smirking_. It seemed that Father didn't notice, since he was waiting with a humoring, challenging air in his expression for Draco to speak up, but that was Scorpius' signal to leave it to him. The brunet had a talent for getting both into and out of trouble. He surely already had a plan.

"I'll go put the brooms away now," Draco said finally, grabbing both his and Scorpius' brooms, as well as gently prying the snitch from the brunet's hand, before rushing off to the broom shed, out of Father's prying gaze.

"It was my idea," Scorpius continued, as if he hadn't stopped talking at all, "to come and practice Quidditch with Draco. I wanted merely for us both to get better so when the time comes we can aptly represent the great House of Slytherin in the game that has become beloved by all of the wizarding community."

Lucius scoffed at his son's cushioned words and muttered, "Save the flowery speech for when you're not bleeding from the head, son," but said no more; it would not due to punish the boy. He wanted to stay on his good side; at least, for now. If he was to be the next Dark Lord… And if he was only to be sacrificed to Voldemort, then it would be better to not have him expect it; to trust them…

Or maybe, just maybe, Lucius had a small, insignificant soft spot for the boy that held not his blood.

Either way, the elder blonde just sniffed and turned up his nose as any decent pureblood knew how to, and with that he placed his hand on Scorpius' shoulder, leading him towards the Malfoy Manor once more. Lessons could not be missed… No, not at all.

And Draco, still holding both the brooms and the snitch, positioned behind a rather large bush as to watch his father and Scorpius' exchange, was smirking silently to himself. Scorpius Nigellus Malfoy was _awesome_.

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Well, there you have it. The first chapter. So... Thank you for your reading and your support... And hopefully for your reviews!!!!

- Phyre


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